


Many of Horror

by thedappertrickster



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Fear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedappertrickster/pseuds/thedappertrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fear does not simply fade with age; Even adults have fears, far overwhelming and far reaching in the psyche. She never could escape him, not that she'd ever tried. Why start now? After all...everyone needs something to believe in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She had nightmares since she was a young child. Certainly most children dream of the man beneath the bed (for her it was in the closet) however simple childish nightmares continued, developed a depth and lengthiness that left her sleepless many nights. What could she do? Medications for insomnia only cured the sleeplessness, they certainly did not aid in the night terrors.

The worst ones were of her own reflection, eyes darkened and gloating over the fear of others, the cowering and mewling sound of small children; The air always smelled stale, urine soaked to the point of gut-wrenching nausea, but oh how that reflection enjoyed what it had caused, enjoyed the power. She feared that reflection too, and oh how it laughed, a whiney unearthly sound of glee as her own slender fingers would wind about the locks of her hair, pulling back as the laughter continued.

“ _You’re a joke. You’re sick. Are you going to piss yourself too, just like a child?”_

The fingers gripped tighter at her scalp, pulling strands away from the tender skin as her neck craned to alleviate the tension.

_“Oh boo hoo, why can’t she just dream of spiders, of being poor. Why aren’t you like everyone else? You don’t deserve normalcy, you’re a freak. Silly, stupid little girl. Those pills won’t help, they only give you over to me more and more with each one. You will not be free of me.”_

She jolted upright, hands clenching against the tangled sheets soaked with the residual dampness from struggled sleep. Her breathing hitched as she fumbled for the pull string on the desk lamp, chest heaving in fearful pants while her heart continued to thud inside her chest.

It was just another night, another terror.

She dared not look across to my vanity, lest find her reflection still waiting for me. No one ever contemplates how terrifying it is to be unable to awake from a nightmare, unable to distinguish what is real, tangible from what is a mere figment of imagination. A twenty-three year old girl should not feel obliged to sleep with the light on.

Though at times, she could have sworn just past the glow of the lamp she would glimpse slinking shadows, eyes of bitter gold, cold despite the warm tone. She shuddered at the thought, pulling her blankets tighter about her shoulders, head flopping back onto the pillow. To contemplate the meaning of such nightmares drove her all the more mad; She was happy, content with her life as a gallery director, glad to hang people’s artwork and properly assure the lighting.

How ironic, that she craved to properly illuminate everything around her, only to struggle with a deepest fear of the dark. Her profession was not chosen without deep thought. Mirror making would certainly be out of the-

A loud crash from the kitchen set her nerves alight with renewed vigor; did she imagine she heard the pad of feet? No, just the cat. He had to have knocked over a glass again, damn cat loved climbing the counters, leaving a wreckage in his path.

“Spook?” She called to the feline, carefully donning her robe as she turned on each light with religious practice, hand bracing against the wall as she made her way into the kitchen. The texture beneath her foot startled her already shaking form.

 _Sand?_ That was simply illogical, sand in her pristine kitchen.

Another glass broke mere inches from her, falling mysteriously from the counter, its pieces slinging about the room, scattering as if kicked by some unseen force. And then following it another was sent tumbling over the edge.

 _Of course, it would be you._ It echoed about within her head, the thought hovering just beyond recognition.

Shaking her head a moment, she couldn’t help but wonder where the words came from, they was not her own. The light from the once cloud-covered moon shone through the window, if only a moment and she swore she saw a form, twisting and winding about itself, falling away from itself to the floor, sliding closer to her feet. The glint of teeth, the chill trailing its way up her spine as every hair stood on end.

Instinctively she backed away, continued backing until she heard _it._ Raspy breaths about her feet, puffs of breathe passing across her toes. She cast aside all curiosity, all concern, as she stumbled away, yelping as her body folded backwards, tripped by her own flighty feet. Her nails dug into the floor beneath her, body rolling over as she pried herself out of the invisible grasp she just knew was about her ankles. I

Again she screamed, heart certain of bursting from her chest as she fought with all of her might.

_This is just a dream._

No. No it was very real, very touchable, every bit of fear she knew she felt, each sensation of grain against her, rough as if sandpaper, she knew was there. Her ankles burned from the roughness, felt as if fingers dug into her skin. The cold spread up against her calf, she kicked out, resorting to primal fear. She had to get away.

Then just as suddenly as she struggle began she felt a deep overwhelming heaviness above her, she could not move, stricken immutable and weak to whatever nightmare sought her out now. Somewhere, perhaps just in the back of her consciousness, she hoped against hope she would wake up soon. This dream felt too real, too serious for her liking. This nightmare was too plausible.

A breeze carefully danced across the collar of her sagging robe, dislodged in the struggle. It was almost laughable, she was going to die. She wasn’t going to wake up. That was a foolish thing to think. Her nightmares would finally get ahold of her, she’d have a heart attack before she even got to see how the dream ended. The boogeyman got her, the man beneath the bed had been there all along, her fear had been so genuine. In the waking world there were no such things as phantoms, yet here, she knew now, there were.

 _Oh that feels so…_ the voice inhaled sharply, a hiss escaping with the exhale, _wonderful._

_You never could overcome that fear of the dark. You were warped so young, so pliable within my grasp. I have never been more grateful for weakness._

She saw the glint of serpentine eyes turning towards her, hovering just above her own face, the huffs of stale breath brushing across her, turning her stomach sour. The air reeked of dank wood stale from rot and death seeping through every inch of space, contained for hundreds of years and hidden away.

Again the form inhaled, pale skin wrapping about the form from the very shadows, translucent though no veins were visible beneath, shadows wrapping about to clothe the form in thin fabric.

“Your fear tastes exquisite-“

The huff of stale breath against her collar sickened her, stomach warping as her vision watered. How pathetic, she was crying. She was so very frightened she had no idea what else to do. His words sounded sensual, drawn against her neck.

“-Simply delicious.”  

"W-who are you?" She gulped, her words muted, mewling attempts to grasp for control over her own racing heartbeat. 

The face smiled, sharp features glistening with pure glee, head cocking to the side as the masculine smirk only deepened upon the dark face 

"Why my dear...You must know who I am by now." He began to chuckle, she could feel his body shaking above and against her own, "Oh dear one, I am the Boogieman." 


	2. Chapter 2

 

And for the second time, she awoke with a start to knotted sheets soaked with sweat. Her pulse continued to race, out of desperation she pinched her own leg. Yes, that felt real; then again it felt so real last time. She pulled away the blankets, legs swinging over the edge of the bed with a bit of caution. When people’s brows rose over the lack of bed-frame they usually chalked it up to being ‘zen’; She never had the heart to tell them that she was afraid of what might sleep beneath it.

_Of course it would be you…._

Oh how those words haunted her, even upon waking. How cryptic and torturous to her human sensibilities. That sensual voice that so closely brushed her memory, though which memory she could not grasp, did not wish to grasp.

“The boogeyman…”A pause proceeding the sigh, “…Well, off the deep end we go then.”

She barely noticed the small scrapes about her ankles, visible circles left from fingertips, even the trails of nails upon her calf. Though, she really didn’t want to notice, to have the affirmation that her nightmare was far too real for her own sanity to grasp. Nope, she was going to put on that normal strut, dash off to work and pretend that it didn’t happen. She didn’t even bother checking for broken glass, choosing instead to bee-line straight through the kitchen. After all, if she thought the kitchen was clean that was enough to affirm that it was. No broken glasses, no silly dreams.

__

“You look tired!”

Damn assistant, always pointing that out. Most people couldn’t realize how rude it was, pointing out what she knew. The dark circles ever expanding beneath her heavy lids only reminded her of the torment she faced each night. It followed her further from her home each day, it seemed. That daunting weight that held her heart firm in its grasp seemed to contaminate each cell of her life. Each painting seemed sorrowful, brushstrokes that should have been energetic only frightened her, read too loudly for her senses to grasp. The yellows were the worst; they brought only feelings of illness, false hopes from sunlight to her mind. Even brightness seemed false, too bright, creeping and seeping about where it didn’t belong.

It felt too dangerous.

“What about the Goya piece? Did you hear from the man?”

She almost didn’t hear the question, too lost in her own absurdities to care for those of others.

“Which one?” She retorted tersely.

“ _Que viene el Coco_. We’ve been trying to get it on loan for ages, how could you have forgotten?”

A blankness crossed her face that set her coworker into a fit of laughter. Apparently there was no way she could be joking about forgetting such a pivitol piece to the upcoming expansion opening. Of course she remembered it, though she rather wouldn’t. Goya wasn’t known for painting puppies, but scenes of horror that could draw fear from any facet. No she was not a fan of Goya.

“Of course!” She perked up, a rouse to seek normalcy. “I haven’t been getting enough sleep, to excited about all the events coming up!”

Cue the raised brow of coworker proceeded by strained conversations over the lovely rain. Too soon this would all be over, this bit of acting this normal life she so craved.

It was an easy call, mostly filled with the man talking far more then she wanted to listen.

“We really need the piece from the 14th to the end of the month. I understand the position it puts you in, I am aware Goya is rather popular but-“

“It cannot be done.” He stated, no negotiation.

“You misheard me, Sir, we have an agreement for the piece so long as the exhibition for the new wing is being held. Considering how long we typically hold pieces this is a speedy turnover rate. We will be keeping it until the end of the month.”

What she wouldn’t have given to be so truly confident. Even work was a game now, a curse.

“Also…” She continued,” There is the matter of the other pieces in the Goya series you have hold on. Will those be properly prepared for transport or are we to expect them late?”

“They will be on time.” He paused, static filling the phone line.

“Yes?”

“Whom is it that will be speaking of the pieces at the opening?”

“We do not often do speakers unless the artist is with us. Unless there is news about Goya returning from beyond I’m afraid there will be none.”

“I will not release these pieces to you unless I am affirmed that proper…well…shall we say story telling shall be presented. The pieces are nothing without the effect, the realness of such insanity cannot truly be felt by simply seeing a lighted piece.”

“I am well versed on art, Sir. We shall take your recommendation into consideration.”

Work would end and she would return home (no sense retreating to dim-lit bars, too obvious) to spend most of the night tossing and turning, every light in her bedroom warming as best as it could. Pity the back of her eyelids weren’t pre-lit, maybe then nightmares couldn’t find her.

Imagine her surprise when she heard the familiar breaking of glass in her kitchen. Spook, poor misfortunately named cat that he was, turned to look apologetically at her, as if he realized how stressful this must have been for her human mind.

“I’m not coming in there…” She remarked to whoever she knew was not really there. Her fingers tugged at the skin on her thigh, lips falling loose with silly prayers out of habit.

A puff of breath against the back of her neck sent a chill whirling down her spine, like a shot she jolted from the chair, shocked to see-

Nothing. No dark shrouds hovering behind her chair, no hands reaching out from between the cushions, not even a ghostly reflection in the mirror. There was nothing there.

_Oh come now, don’t be cruel. I’m nothing to you now? That hurts._

His voice hovered about between her ears, arousing a fresh bout of fears and doubts regarding her own sanity. Nothing was there, she could see nothing. The lights were on, there couldn’t be anything there.

“We need to talk, my poor insane girl. You already know I’m real.”

Chills trailed across her calf, pressing against the scraps that still remained, bitter and stinging at the touch that she could not see, merely perceive. It felt so real, she was having trouble reasoning with herself, even her heartbeat did not wish to calm.

“Can you not see me now?”

A statement, mere observation. The voice seemed to know more then she did. For a moment she could have sworn she felt a wide-eyed stare mere inches from the tip of her nose, her hair being pushed back behind her ear as if with motherly care.

_Answer me._

The force of the words within her pulled a mewling squeak from behind her teeth. “No!”

“Pity. I had hoped we would be past this lousy specter bit.” The sarcasm seeped from the words, bitter and bored. “No matter, I do love scaring you.”

The lights flickered a moment, and just as quickly they seemed to brighten with newfound intensity. The room was silent, she felt no more chills, no more words from invisible men haunted her. She felt such a peace.

With bursting a force, the lights all darkened, leaving her in nothing but the pitch black of the night. A hand grasped against her shoulder, her body pulled with unseemly force up from the floor, thrown as if a rag-doll as her body landed upon the chair once more. The glint of teeth within the corner of her eye was all it took for her to again see that grinning face, those steely eyes of amber sparkling with mirth and pure glee, that tongue tracing across the discolored bottom lip.

“Now then, where were we?”


End file.
